Lover

I am not who you think I am.

I am not your lover.

I am not your friend.

I move over

you in the darkness

and  heat of the starless

twilight hours.

I strip you over and over,

and exposed you to how entirely 
I consume you as I draw you in,

gorging eagerly on your gratification

with my body of lies and unholy insatiability.

Praise me, crave me, try to sanctify me

and make me pure again.

I am dream-like; disappearing beyond your waking moments where

I am not your lover.

I am not your friend.

I move over you, with you, and then over.